


drugs. sex. magic. therapy?

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, Ambiguous Age, Drugged Sex, F/F, Questioning, Recreational Drug Use, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Meg is the local drug dealer, feeling not a single regret for providing Ilvermorny students with the potions and products they need to get fucked up. Today's deal goes a little differently than normal.





	drugs. sex. magic. therapy?

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 'drugs' prompt for seasonofkink.

The first drug talk Meg ever hears is about idiot gillyheads. Uncle Maximilian is a auror, has been since the 1960's. There's nothing more he hates than a lazy-bum-disrespectful-gillyhead. For a long time Meg doesn't think to question it. She's too busy questioning everything else, a product of being her father's daughter and an avid reader. Then, when she's twelve, she starts reading a series by Justin Finch Fletchley. In his book all the characters smoke gillyweed. It's a revelation; smoking weed isn't evil.

Somewhere along the line she becomes an avid user of the less damaging drugs. Not shit like redcap blood, which inflates your confidence and makes you incredibly violent, or calming draughts, which can get terribly addicting. Just the fun stuff. Using blossoms nicely into selling, and a career is born. 

At this point in her life, Meg is used to being the outlet. Despite not living on the grounds, she’s the closest thing to a guidance counsellor Ilvermorny has. Hardly any of the students ever just buy the imp eggs, or the gilly, or the Runespoor flakes. No, they always talk about their reasons. Too much pressure to go into the family career. I get so many headaches and the standard spells don’t work. A broken heart. Sometimes she thinks that without her a quarter of the students would go nuts before they graduate. It’s enough to make you wonder who’s providing her service in Hogsmeade for the Hogwarts kids, or in Pyrenees for Beauxbatons, or whatever that unchartable island off BC for the Canadian school is called, she always forgets. Surely there are irresponsible adults to help the flaming out teens there too.

Meg’s a bit surprised to see Mica Burton the day she comes in. Meg knows her by face, and by the charms she’s always putting on her hair, but she’s never met her in this context. She’s a new customer. Maybe it’s because she’s the rare local. In the past if Mica’s been stressed out she’s probably gone home to talk it out. Now though she’s in need of imp eggs and a sympathetic ear.

“You ever get such a shitty crush it rearranges your world?”

“If it’s Jackson Fforde, go with your instinct of backing the fuck away. I’ve had more than one girl in here, trying to forget.”

Mica rolls her eyes. “I wish it was as easy as fuckboy attraction.”

“So what is it then?”

“Well, uh. Fuck it. If you’ve had people in here bitching about Jackson, you’ve probably also heard the name Danielle Masterskold? Somehow, out of every hot wizard at Ilvermorny, my fucked up brain decided to go with a girl. Shit.”

Meg doesn’t want to diminish the feelings sometimes associated with coming out. It’s hard, for some people. But at the same time, Mica has to know that it doesn’t actually matter, liking a girl after a sea of boys. “You know that’s just being bisexual, right? No big deal?”

“Is that what you think Gran would think?”

Meg laughs. She knows Granny Burton. Granny Burton could be crotchety about winning a free three story house, or a unicorn. “You gonna tell her you sneaked into the village to get high thanks to the town neerdowell?” Mica snorts, answer enough for Meg’s mostly rhetorical question. “So if you’re not mentioning that mostly socially acceptable behaviour, why tell her about the other? I wouldn’t.”

Meg waits for a beat or two, but Mica doesn’t offer any more information. Meg doesn’t press. She’s happy to be the listening ear, but not everyone actually wants it. Some people just want their drugs. 

Meg unlocks the cabinet she keeps most of her stash in, the items that don’t need specific and complicated storage situations. Runespoor needs to be kept warm, but imp isn’t anything special. From the wide shelf Meg grabs one of the pre-packaged boxes, and flashes Mica a peak of the contents.

“You ever do imp eggs before?” It’s not that Meg won’t sell to first timers. Her morals aren’t that strong. It’s just she thinks they should know what they’re getting into. If Mica’s new, she’ll briefly sketch out the average high, make sure she’s still on board with it.

“Once, with friends. They graduated though. I’m the young friend.”

“You shouldn’t do shit by yourself.”

Mica shrugs. “I’m not _not_ doing it, so...”

Ugh. Stupid fuckin’ newbs. “I don’t normally do this. Don’t go thinking this is part of the deal,” Meg warns. “But come over here and grab a bowl.” 

Meg takes back the box she’s just given Mica and plucks out three of the six thumbnail sized eggs. Once they’re in the bowl she grinds them with the back of a spoon, shell and all. A dash of water turns the crushed eggs into a runny paste.

“Swallow that and prepare to not move for a few hours. Blanket, drink with a straw, pee first, the whole nine yards.”

“I know, I’ve done this before.”

As Mica slurps hers back, Meg quickly vacillates between not taking, and taking a dose. Imp eggs aren’t Tebo jerky, they’re not really a high that necessitates a sober trip babysitter. Merely watching Mica for the next few hours is going to be boring. On the other hand surely she should have some sort of responsibility? 

In the end, Meg cracks open her stash and preps the same dose for herself. Because fuck it. Imp is a mildly habituating drug but tolerance to them doesn’t really build, so three is fine. From ingestion to onset is about three minutes. Meg uses that time to pee and gather her blankets. Mica’s already laid out on the floor, hoodie transfigured into a large body pillow. Meg joins her, draping the largest blanket over the both of them. Might as well be friendly. 

The eggs come on strong. Meg’s body goes from normal to weighing a thousand pounds instantly. That’s the first effect. Soon the heaviness will turn into a general over awareness of air pressing down, as well as every other normally background sensation being tripled, but for the first few minutes it’s just gravity trying its best to grind her into the floor. The third effect kicks in for Mica first. Of course, considering she swallowed first by about five minutes. All of a sudden the younger woman is giggling like mad, the very existence of the universe hilarious. Meanwhile Meg waits on the edge of impatience for the second step of imp intoxication. Impaired vision isn’t a particularly _fun_ effect, but it’s a sure sign of better things to come. 

Finally things get a bit blurry. Not truly blinding. More like spreading a jelly film on a glass window. The details of Mica’s face go away. What Meg’s left with is smear of black next to a blob of brown against the green Meg knows are her blankets. The lack of distinction makes Meg want to laugh, so she does. It’s the best thing about this drug, how fuckin’ delightful everything gets when the high really kicks in. Cheering Charms are only as good as the wix casting them, but imp eggs works for anyone.

“Is- is the air holding you down? Because it’s holding me down.”

Meg wants to laugh at Mica’s question, but she struggles mightily to answer it seriously. “Don’t stress about it, just feel it. The air’s like, got a hundred fingers all over you.”

Mica snorts, which turns into a giggle that has trouble tapering off. It’s contagious, and Meg finds herself heartily joining in.

“What?” Meg is able to ask a few minutes later, when her giggles die. She thinks the metaphor’s apt.

“I’ll show you a hundred fingers.” Mica rolls onto her stomach with an audible exhale and shudder when the amplified sensation gets to her. Soon after though it’s Meg’s turn. Mica is half on her and before Meg even gets a chance to get used to that, Mica’s tickling her.

“Oh my god, Mica. Oh my god.” No one’s ever done this before. “Holy fuck Mica. Holy-” No one’s ever tickled her while she’s on imp before. Meg feels like she might laugh herself right out of her skin. But hilarity’s not the only reaction. 

“Mica I’m too into this. You should probably stop.” Just because Mica likes girls doesn’t mean she likes women.

Mica’s reaction is much more delighted than Meg expected. She’s got a massive grin on her face as she says “really? That’s hot,” and continues to tickle her.

Meg’s toes begin to curl, and not the way they did when she was younger and a friend was tickling her. No, this is a straight up fist-clenching, cunt-tightening orgasm. Each word that comes out is a pant as her whole body draws taut. “Holy. Fuck. Mica.”

Mica bursts into laughter, briefly raising her head to look at Meg before resting it softly on her chest. “That was so awesome.” 

Mica traces a finger against the contours of her lip, and the feeling is so strangely intense that Meg moans. Fuckin’ hell, this is only the first hour of her high. Who knows how many knots Mica will tie in her before they sober up?

“What should I get a tattoo of?” It’s the first thing Mica says post orgasm, and Meg is as wary as she can be, considering the imp running through her veins right now. Meg should have suspected an interest. She’s wearing a white tank, and she’s caught Mica staring more than once at her decorated arms. Unlike muggle tattoos the colours won't fade, turn bottle blue and grey twenty years after getting one. 

“My suggestion is brown dots on your shoulders.” 

“What?”

“Get a tattoo that looks like freckles because you get a noticeable one and your grandma will kick my ass.”

“She wouldn't,” she says skeptically.

Meg knows Mica knows she would. “She would, me being a bad influence and all. Your mom probably wouldn't be too happy either.”

It's strange how things work out, Meg thinks. Of course, everything seems strange to her right now, not to mention hilarious. She's higher than Quidditch goals. High enough that though she's thirsty enough that she could weep and drink her own tears, she's completely forgotten how to walk to the kitchen and get her juice. And magic is utterly out of the question. She's almost muggle under the influence of this. Not that Meg regrets it. Getting stoned is so much more important than being able to transfigure a pineapple into a pincushion. But back to the point, it’s strange. Of all the students lives she affects, it’s the one girl who lives in her village who affects her back. How’s about that for fate?


End file.
